


Trail of Blood

by selan_san (ukelpie)



Category: Ginga | Silver Fang
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukelpie/pseuds/selan_san
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short drabble. Weed has been kidnapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trail of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Goes with this image (you need to log in to see): http://tavaris.deviantart.com/gallery/?q=ginga#/d35sprt

Jerome stomped the ground, unable to contain his anger, uttering a quiet curse. They’ve been tracking him down for hours, the footprints of his kidnappers clearly detectable in the freshly fallen snow. But then, suddenly, they’d reached a crossroad, the amount of foot-prints distinctly increasing, scents mixing, confusing him for a bit. He thought nothing would keep him from finding his charge, the boy who’d brought new sense to his life, his scent one in a million to him, easily recognizable. But he couldn’t deny that after following him for hours their spirits got tired, their bodies even more so, and his sharp senses were no longer at their peak.

GB was treading the ground nervously, feeling uneasy in face of Jerome’s wrath, but at the same time eager to continue their search. Rocket stood quiet at his side, perfectly still to not disturb Jerome’s thoughts, who had taken the lead in their quest, his expression a mask of calmness despite his slight fear that they might arrive too late to save Weed.

Suddenly Jerome inhaled sharply, the metallic scent of blood hitting him so hard that he could taste it on his tongue, the small puddle on the ground standing out disturbingly against the otherwise clinical white of their surroundings. GB barked in fear, and even the barsoi’s face now showed an expression of worry. The blood carried Weed’s scent, but they couldn’t say if it was truly his or if he managed to injure one of his captors. They all hoped for the latter. Jerome braced himself on a tree and stared into the distance, trying to see where the trail of bloodied footprints was leading them. The hope it got them back on track was small, but he was willing to cling to it nonetheless. It started snowing again. With a bellowed order he brought the scouts in line behind himself, speeding up, to reach the boy as soon as possible and get him out of the pinch he had carelessly brought himself into.


End file.
